


the kind of thing one says easily

by sleepymccoy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Admission of love, Aftermath of, Anal, First Kiss, Fluff, French Revolution Scene, M/M, Pining, Poetry, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Teasing, and then we have the sex tags, aziraphale doesnt lie to crowley but he is certainly slow on the uptake the poor babe, aziraphale trying to get a handle on his feelings, blowjob, both of them top but mostly crowley topping, continuation of the church bomb scene, crowley communicates pretty well, crowley recites a poem, crowley slipping away from lust and well and truly into love, female pronouns for nanny ashtoreth of course, friends to unrequited love to love and sex, in the abstract, moments in history, nanny ashtoreth and brother francis make an appearance, non human stanima, snapshots of history, talking about sex, they flirt over crepes, they squabble about divorce, they talk about aliens and star trek briefly so thats nice, thinking about sex, you go too fast for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 20:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: Kind of my take on an au where Crowley just straight up told Aziraphale pretty early on that he loves him, so it was a fact of their dynamic for centuries before the apocalypse. I call it the "if they actually communicated" au. Fits in with tv canon, I've done a prelude or a run on from one or two major scenes in the show, you'll almost certainly catch it. But yeah, snapshots of them talking about feelings, sometimes very serious (mostly pretty serious actually) but sometimes quite light and lovely, othertimes a bit more full on. Classic lads. Still don't get together until post apocalypse cos, ya know, it be like that. Runs from like 2000bc to 2020ad with 12 segments of story, although three of those are 2019 cos like that's when shit really went down





	1. Apples, Coffee, and Olives

**1978 B.C, in an area that would one day be a great forest in Kazakhstan**

They sat under an apple tree, a parallel Aziraphale had complained about, but as Crowley had pointed out there was little else but apple trees to rest under in this orchard. Crowley was dutifully snacking on an apple, although he wasn't really enjoying it. Aziraphale had been telling him about a new fabric he liked the feeling of, but had fallen quiet for some time now. 

They sat comfortably in the shade as Crowley’s mind wandered.

"Ever had sex?" Crowley asked. It didn't occur to him not to, really. It would be another nearly a thousand years before the memory of asking such a question would make him blush, and even longer before he regretted it.

Aziraphale glanced at him, he looked briefly offended but it settled into curiosity. "Certainly not," he said. 

Crowley liked curiosity. 

Crowley looked at him, taking him in for a moment. He didn't want to push the angel too much, but his offers of dessert, wine, and parchment had all gone over well in the end. He'd had to try parchment a few times, but he’d got there. As long as there was some nice poetry on it, he seemed to enjoy the reading. Crowley just liked the texture. But the joy with which Aziraphale approached desserts continued to amaze him, and twice now he'd brought a bottle of wine to Crowley; the first time had nearly surprised Crowley into an early shed. Sex felt like it could be the sort of indulgence the angel enjoyed, but he might be wrong again.

He'd been wrong about music, sleep, and heights. The irony in a Principality of Heaven who didn't enjoy being very high was not lost on Crowley, although Aziraphale hadn't seen the humour. Or at least he had insisted he couldn't see the humour, but Crowley was beginning to wonder if Aziraphale didn't lie more than he let on.

"I've been thinking about trying it, would you like to?"

Aziraphale frowned. "What, us? Together?"

Crowley shrugged. "Yeah. In case some, you know, not-human thing happens."

Aziraphale scoffed briefly, then went quiet. Crowley left the question hanging, waiting patiently for the answer. Aziraphale almost always answered, he just needed a minute to decide how sometimes. Crowley liked how he always answered.

His answer came. "No, thank you," Aziraphale finally muttered, 

Crowley nodded. He felt a spark of disappointment, which was a little surprising. He'd have to figure that out some time, but he was feeling more slothful than self-reflecting this decade so he'd do that later. Maybe.

"Suit yourself."

**283 A.D, in a small cafe in Armenia**

"Crowley, um, do you remember when you asked me to have sex with you?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley's heart thudded in his chest. He had not forgotten, he had, however, ignored it quite aggressively. He hadn’t even thought about it for about two centuries now. At least, not during the day. There wasn’t much to be done about his thoughts at night. 

"Oh, yeah," Crowley admitted. He took a shaky breath and tried to prepare himself for whatever Aziraphale was about to say. The memory of that refusal filled him with relief now, the thought of having sex with Aziraphale terrified him somehow.

"Did you ever- ?" Aziraphale asked, then trailed off, leaving the question hanging awkwardly. 

Crowley thought fiercely for a second, trying to guess at what he was asking. "Have sex?" He completed.

Aziraphale nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Yes."

"Yes," Crowley admitted. 

"How was it?" Aziraphale asked, his eyes still on his cup of coffee rather than meeting Crowley’s curious stare.

"Oh, it's a bit of fun," Crowley said. He kept staring at Aziraphale, figuring out what to say. He had a vague idea of what he didn’t want to say, that his awareness of his heartbeat was overshadowed only by how his skin craved for Aziraphale to drag his fingers across him, down him, into him. Crowley took a breath, then had a mouthful of coffee to buy himself a moment to think. 

The coffee was nice, which was a surprise, Crowley hadn’t enjoyed coffee before. He liked it strong, apparently. He focused on that thought rather than imagining how Aziraphale's hand would feel pressed against the small of his back, holding him as he moved in him from behind. 

Crowley had a second sip of coffee and told himself off. 

Aziraphale finally looked at him, his expression so polite and detached that Crowley finally found an exit to the spiraling imagery in his head. He locked eyes with Aziraphale and found himself made calmer.

"I've gotta keep an eye out for my scales," Crowley admitted to the one person he could admit this to. "I slipped there once or twice. That's a toughie to explain."

Aziraphale smiled, amused by the comment. "I can only imagine," he said. 

Crowley smirked. "Well, don't imagine too hard, now," he said. Then he heard what he'd said and was briefly impressed with himself for flirting, then totally embarrassed by it.

They went quiet for a minute. Aziraphale ordered a refill and Crowley commented on the pleasant taste. 

As their second round was placed between them, Aziraphale muttered, "Would you still be interested in…" he said more, but Crowley couldn't make it out. 

"In what?" Crowley asked. He was focusing more on the way Aziraphale was pouring, trying to set it to memory if he chose to indulge in coffee without the angel. 

Aziraphale passed him his cup with a glance. "With me? I've been wondering," he said hesitantly and all at once Crowley caught on.

"Oh!" Crowley said, more so that he wouldn't say nothing. He swallowed heavily, insisting to his heart that it ought to calm down. Why was his heart so involved in this? It didn’t feel quite like a fear he’d felt before. "Angel, you’ve surprised me," Crowley admitted. 

"Well," Aziraphale said shortly as he busied himself setting his cup perfectly in the centre of a small pattern on the tablecloth. "The human experience and all."

Crowley nodded. Terror. "Probably best experienced with a human," he said slowly. 

"So you don't want to?" Aziraphale asked quickly.

Crowley did want to, but he refused regardless. He didn't understand why yet, but he knew he would likely not survive a tryst with this angel. He would figure it out a decade later but he wasn’t to know that now. 

"No, better not," he said.

"Good, good," Aziraphale said, then he quickly changed the subject and explained the process of making coffee in excruciating detail until Crowley begged to leave. 

  
  
  
  


**623 A.D, a small seaside town in Greece**

Crowley caught sight of him from a distance, buying bread from a street vendor. They’d seen a lot of each other this year, in the same city. It was the first time Aziraphale hadn’t fled a residence when Crowley moved in close by and Crowley was far more pleased about it than he could safely say. They’d both been treating it as a bit of a holiday, able to argue to each of their head office that the other’s presence was disrupting their efforts to obey orders and they couldn’t possibly leave until they’d exhausted all efforts to thwart and wile. It was very relaxing. 

He pulled himself onto the bridge wall and sat, sure that his dark shirt would be noticed in this bright day against the pale stone he sat on. He lounged, watching Aziraphale stroll around the morning market, chatting generously with stall owners and dropping coins in childrens’ hands. He looked far too rich, as always, and as Crowley watched he was steadily approached by more unsavoury people. 

Crowley caught eyes with a few of them and shook his head, the distant and unspoken threat believed enough to turn them around. He let a few more harmless ones through, best to teach Aziraphale some of the lessons he was due. 

Aziraphale spotted him and waved. Crowley nodded back and watch in amusement as a sex worker Crowley recognsied walked up to the angel and tried her luck. 

Aziraphale finally shook her off, after giving her a coin for her efforts and some of his bread for good measure, and made his way to Crowley, his good mood not negatively affected by the attempted consort. Instead of greeting him, Aziraphale walked up to the bridge’s edge, looked up at Crowley, and asked, “am I attractive?” 

“Thep,” Crowley said, which was neither a word nor an answer. He shook his head and slid off the wall, standing directly before Aziraphale. The angel stepped back to give him room. “What?” Crowley asked. 

“To humans, do you think?”

Crowley squinted at him, fairly befuddled by the question. Aziraphale nodded at him to walk with him as he began strolling off. Crowley followed, still thinking about how to respond, when an explanation occurred to him. “Oh, have you still not had sex?” He asked. 

“No,” Aziraphale sighed, “although I suppose I haven't tried particularly hard.” He fished a jar out of his bag and held it out to Crowley. “Olive?” He offered.

Crowley shook his head. “You won't have any trouble, you're a well put together sorta buck,” he said.

“A buck?” Aziraphale queried.

So Aziraphale hadn’t been keeping up with slang. “S'a compliment,” Crowley half-truthed. 

Aziraphale raised his eyes in doubt. “I'll take your word for it,” he said. 

Crowley grinned and walked happily alongside him. 

Aziraphale grew tired of the olives before long, and as they reached the coast line he busily put them back in his bag. “Am I attractive to you?” He asked as Crowley was looking the other way.

“Hm?” Crowley asked, turning to face him again. He stared, town with uncertainty for a moment, then decided to be honest. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale was still working on closing the buckle to his bag, not looking at Crowley. He was red, though, more than sun kissed. He was blushing. “Why don’t you wish to have sex with me, then?” Aziraphale muttered. 

“I d- it's complicated,” Crowley managed to say. 

Aziraphale grinned at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. They began to walk along the path by the water. “Dear, if anyone can keep up with you I suspect it's me,” Aziraphale pointed out. 

Crowley agreed completely and reluctantly. “You won't like it,’ he warned. 

Aziraphale chuckled. “Demon, if my disapproval were enough to have you change your ways this world would be in much better shape than it is,” he said. 

Crowley wasn't sure what that meant, if it meant that if he changed then maybe Aziraphale would want him in return, or if he was saying that there was nothing to be done and it was simply not on the table, or if he meant it entirely one dimensionally. Crowley decided to take the simplest meaning as the prospect of there being depth to it made him dizzy.

“My deeds have nothing on your lot!” Crowley said defensively. 

“Oh, don't let's squabble,” Aziraphale suggested. “God has graced us with a beautiful day, let's enjoy it instead.” 

“You just don't want to lose another debate,” Crowley needled. 

Aziraphale didn’t take the bait. “Why don’t we have sex, Crowley?” He asked. 

Well that was one way to empty a set of lungs. He breathed in sharply, returning some oxygen to his body as he focused more on continuing to walk as if he hadn’t just been thrown into a room full of furious alligators armed with nothing but an asparagus to defend himself with. “It's a touch more intimate than sharing a pie, angel,” he dodged.

Aziraphale looked at him keenly. “I will respect your refusal, but I don't understand it,” he said. 

They walked quietly together again and Crowley decided to just say it, have it be said, have it be known. It was unlikely to go all too badly, Aziraphale was always far too casual about Crowley’s wants and he probably wouldn't really care a jot. 

And there was a chance he would reciprocate. 

“I've realised that I've gone and fallen in love with you at some point,” Crowley told the ground.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said.

They stopped walking. 

Aziraphale was looking out at the sea. Crowley felt like he was on fire.

“Yeah,” Crowley confirmed through gritted teeth.

Aziraphale turned around and Crowley remembered he had a face, he had expressions, so he quickly made sure he wasn’t expressing anything but mild disinterest. “Forgive my ignorance,” Aziraphale said, “I’ve read on the matter, but not- would that not make you want to have sex with me more?”

Crowley laughed. Not reciprocated, then. But not bringing ruin. “Yes,” he said, stopping his hiss as it threatened. “But I'm not sure I’d have the restraint to leave the next day, so best not risk it I think.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, nodding. “Well, I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

Crowley wanted to leave. “‘preciate,” he said. 

“Could I make it up to you with lunch?” Aziraphale offered. 

Crowley couldn’t believe there was a book on this earth that would tell someone to refuse a declaration of love with an offer of lunch, but he decided not to comment on the tactlessness. He shook his head. “I have a thing,” he excused, shucking his head back towards town. He went to leave straight away, but stopped. He took a breath and spoke, not fully facing Aziraphale, but not fully facing away. “Find someone to fuck you, angel, I think you’ll enjoy it. Just, well, make sure they’re nice first.”

“Like you?” Aziraphale asked gently, cruelly.

“If I were nice I wouldn’t talk to you ever again. I’ll see you around.” Crowley left the beach, then he left the town, then he left Greece. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the fic!
> 
> So a buck is slang I found on wikipedia for roughly that time period in England. I wrote this part a while back but from memory it meant like a well dressed, upper class man who's like fuckable, but kinda a prick. So it can be a compliment, but it can also be an insult. I see Crowley using it as a backhand compliment kind thing here, really. He's trying to be cool and suave and that requires throwing some barbs
> 
> Also I really like the idea that Aziraphale calling Crowley nice in the ex nunnery was his way of saying 'i still wanna fuck you'


	2. Crepes and Poems

  
  


**1793 A.D, a lovely restaurant still managing to serve crepes in a very revolutionary France**

Aziraphale was really hoeing into his crepe. Crowley had wondered if the whole Bastille performance had been an excuse to catch up, but the sheer fervency that Aziraphale embodied now left him pretty sure that it had all been in search of a crepe after all. Crowley leaned onto his hand, watching closely as Aziraphale closed his eyes to sigh, poked his tongue out to chase a drop that ran down his chin, then took another relishing bite. Crowley tensed his jaw to keep his grin at bay.

Aziraphale finished his crepe (this was the fourth) and dabbed politely at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. Crowley briefly enjoyed the idea of kissing him there, but he didn’t bother to entertain the thought for long. Aziraphale glanced at him with a false self consciousness which faded into curiosity as Crowley didn’t look away.

“What are you looking at?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged shallowly. “You,” he said. 

“I can see that,” Aziraphale said dismissively as he raised his hand to the waiter for another round.

Crowley smiled, this meal had been going for an hour now and showed no signs of ending soon. He leaned back in his chair, attention still trained on Aziraphale. “You kept the…” he waved at his neck vaguely, trying to imitate the item he was referring to. “Neck frou thing.”

“Yes, it’s custom made.”

“Do you own any clothes that aren’t?”

Aziraphale gave him a small, smug smile, one that Crowley couldn’t imagine him giving anyone else. It said  _ yes, I have been tempted and I do not regret it _ . It said  _ yes, I am happy to tell you, I am glad you know what I indulge in _ . “Very rarely,” he said cheerfully.

Crowley laughed and glanced around the restaurant, giving himself a moment's break to calm his heart. 

A waiter came by and deposited a crepe in front of Aziraphale. A quick exchange followed, mainly consisting of _ mon compliment a la chef _ and  _ oui monsieur, merci _ and  _ encore wine? vino? s’il vous plait.  _ Crowley cringed apologetically at the waiter for the poor French Aziraphale employed.

He looked back at Aziraphale as he poked the crepe in anticipation and again enjoyed the freedom his glasses gave him to look where he wanted. “I don’t see you in dark clothes much. Ever, maybe,” he said. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale glanced up briefly. “I’m not sure I’m pulling it off, really.”

“You are, you look good,” Crowley affirmed. And he did, he kept glancing at Crowley and blushing, the colour made more prominent from the dark red of his jacket. Crowley had always thought his eyes stunning, but they simply jumped out at him now, bright and glistening and kind. Crowley was feeling everything very deeply this afternoon. “Your, ah, your original shoes were better, though,” he said, trying to keep things light. 

Aziraphale followed his gaze to his sensible, black leather shoes with a touch of sadness. Crowley chuckled to himself, admiring how much the angel cared about things. “Oh, you liked them? I’m very fond.”

“Must be, they didn’t seem comfortable.”

“They’re not bad at all, and they’re safely in the bookshop for my return.”

Crowley leaned back across the table as Aziraphale began to eat. “Still doing the shop thing, then?” He asked after a pause. 

Aziraphale swallowed hastily and smiled at Crowley, his excitement almost tangible in the air. “Absolutely! You must come by and see once I open,” he said eagerly.

Crowley settled his head into his hand again, gazing across the short distance. “I’d love to,” he accepted. Aziraphale went back to his meal, pleased with his response. Crowley’s eyes trailed across the angel. He’d taken his cap off as they’d arrived and his hair was still messed from it, which was proving endlessly endearing and distracting. More than anything he just looked so happy. “You do look very good, angel,” Crowley muttered. 

Aziraphale glanced at him warmly, his gratitude for the compliment evident but unspoken.

Crowley thought about it for a moment, but not very hard. It seemed easy to say today. He took a steadying breath, which got Aziraphale’s attention, then said, “You feel free to ignore this next bit, but I love you.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows flew up, then furrowed in a small frown. He looked seriously at his crepe and took another mouthful, avoiding Crowley’s gaze as he took his time chewing. Stalling, Crowley assumed. He finally swallowed and glanced as Crowley as he prepared another mouthful. “You seem to have grown more comfortable with it,” he observed with no helpful cadence to indicate his own comfort.

Crowley nodded. “It’s quite a good way to be, really.”

Aziraphale chuffed a laugh. “What, unrequited?” He asked lightly. A second didn’t have a chance to pass before Aziraphale’s eyes widened in clear, sheer panic. He dropped his fork and looked at Crowley, beginning to speak quickly, “Oh, I didn’t-”

“Ach!” Crowley cried in an exaggerated outrage, interrupting Aziraphale’s attempt to apologise. He put his hand to his heart and grinned at the angel in disbelief and amusement. “No, not what I meant!” He admonished. He laughed and Aziraphale relaxed. 

Crowley’s laugh faded to a fond smile. He hadn’t expected that response, but he was more than happy with it. At some point he’d been accepted, Aziraphale had grown accustomed to this. That wasn’t just good, it was wonderful. “I  _ meant _ , in love with someone who deserves it,” Crowley explained. 

Aziraphale’s blush had grown tenfold, but now he smiled to match it. “Well. I’m not sure about that, Crowley,” he said self effacingly. 

Crowley grinned. “That’s okay, I’ll know it for both of us,” he said.

Aziraphale made a noise that managed to communicate exasperation and amusement easily. He balled up his napkin and threw it at Crowley, laughing as Crowley made a show of catching it. 

  
  
  
  
  


**1852 A.D. in a candlelit bookshop, rather later than it ought to be**

  
  


“You never!” Aziraphale cried out with a cheerful disbelief. 

Aziraphale sat in his armchair, poised less than perfectly after a few drinks, and laughed. Crowley sat on the arm of the couch, feet on the cushion but shoes off at Aziraphale’s request, and wiggled his toes in contentment. His jacket was long since removed and had been miraculously hung next to their hats. Crowley leant forward onto his knees and chuckled, swirling the half a glass of wine in his hand.

“I did, I swear,” he promised happily. “Walked her down the aisle and everything- well,” Crowley corrected, mangling the word. “Not the aisle, hallowed ground and all, but to the church! Well, not walked, but I got her there.”

Aziraphale chuckled into his glass, trying very hard to sound admonishing. “So you drove her to the church,” he summarised. 

Crowley tipped his head to disagree, but said, “Yes.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Not in that new one-horse-drawn-thing of yours?”

Crowley gaped in offence. “It’s a great cart!” He cried. “They- they’ve come up with this suspension thing, you’d like it!” He pointed at Aziraphale in vague excitement, trying to find a positive that the angel would enjoy. “I put one of those white ribbons on and everything, seemed like something you’d do.”

“Not tartan?” Aziraphale asked slyly.

“Tartan will never touch my carriage, angel.”

Aziraphale frowned again, but it was interrupted by his laugh as he took another drink. “Well,” he said, seeming to accept that his efforts to chide Crowley wouldn’t land tonight. “I appreciate the effort you put in regardless, Crowley.”

Crowley slipped off the arm of the couch and swirled his legs around, getting comfortable on the cushion. “That’s the deal,” he quipped before finishing his glass off. 

“What about your side?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley watched his pour closely as he let far too much wine fall into his glass. “I kept it on the other side of town, you can claim ignorance a’plenty,” he said dismissively. Hell had been off his back lately, and it would do no good to let Aziraphale know that he hadn’t, in fact, done a thing for his part of the deal while in Luxembourg. He’d simply found the young woman Heaven had decided needed some amount of power and gotten her married to a man who could give her such power. Crowley’s only real hand in it was to ensure the man in question wouldn’t beat her, although Aziraphale would’ve done the same thing so it still counted towards their Arrangement. 

“We’ve gotten rather good at this, haven’t we?” Aziraphale mused. 

They had. Crowley was beginning to worry about repercussions. But it wasn’t the night for that, so he simply hummed in agreement and changed the topic. “What’d you get up to?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly and he took a careful sip of wine. Crowley’s curiosity was piqued. “In fact, I took some of your advice,” Aziraphale said carefully. 

“Oh?”

Aziraphale put his wine down and Crowley’s curiosity strolled past piqued and settled into being. “You’d given it quite a while ago,” Aziraphale said as he delicately avoided meeting Crowley’s gaze. “Well, not advice, exactly, but implied or suggested once. Oh, I suppose it was more of an implication than advice, but-”

Crowley felt a cold flame come over him. “Did you have sex?” He asked.

“No, no, not that!” Aziraphale said quickly, a hearty blush filling his cheeks. He avoided Crowley’s gaze less delicately now, instead simply looking down at his hands. “I’m afraid I haven’t, well, I haven’t come across anyone who- that’s all proving a little complicated,” he admitted quietly. 

Crowley was relieved, and hated himself for it. “Sorry to hear it,” he lied. 

Aziraphale nodded. “But you have made clear, whether intentionally or not, that you’re rather more up on the matter of, well, of love. Than I am. And I am an angel after all, so I’ve been looking into it.”

Crowley chuckled hollowly. “I don’t know what they’re writing these days, but I suspect it won’t do it, angel,” he said. 

“Not books, dear. Poets.”

Aziraphale looked so very sincere. Crowley blinked and sighed. “That lot,” he said dismissively, although he wasn’t sure he landed the tone quite right this time. 

“Well, I believe I have a better grasp on it all than I used to,” Aziraphale continued awkwardly.

“High ho for a poet, then.”

Aziraphale was quiet and Crowley regretted his rudeness, then decided he ought not regret a thing. But he sighed and Aziraphale treated it as a cue to speak again. 

“Dear,” Aziraphale broached gently. 

“Mp,” Crowley said as he drank. 

“Could I ask you some questions?”

Crowley sighed again. He leaned back against the couch and thanked humans for inventing sunglasses and said, “Yeah.”

Aziraphale sat silently, running his finger along the crease of his pants. A few seconds passed heavily, making sure their passage was known by both creatures present.

“Oh, I had some thoughts prepared but I cannot seem to remember them,” Aziraphale muttered. 

Crowley felt himself softening. He grasped desperately at his annoyance, his offence, but it quickly left and all he had was a sweet love and a desire to serve that which he loved. “What d’you want from me that you aren’t getting from your poets?” He asked softly.

“Well, I suppose,’ Aziraphale dallied. He glanced at Crowley, his eyebrows tight. “I don’t see you in their descriptions,” he whispered.

“Okay,” Crowley encouraged. 

Aziraphale spoke with more ease. “They describe it as consuming and fervent and rather pushy. You’ve never been like that.”

Crowley nodded. “What’s your point?”

Aziraphale swallowed loudly. “Have you ever loved a human?”

“Nope.” Crowley had some more wine, he was half hoping to get truly drunk before they got to the crux of this, and half considering sobering up so that he had a better grip on himself. “Just you.”

“And you’re sure you love me, you don’t think maybe- ?”

“What, I’ve got my wires crossed?” Crowley interrupted. Ah, there was his frustration, back in full swing. “I’ve just misunderstood Lust or Envy or-”

“No, no, nothing so horrible!”

“Then what?” Crowley snapped.

“Just,” Aziraphale said cautiously, “perhaps you’ve never had a friend. Because I do feel very strongly for you Crowley, but it’s not that, it  _ can’t _ be.”

Crowley rubbed his forehead, he was half tempted to let his stress headache form in earnest because it suited the mood so well, but he miracled it away. “Come here,” he ordered.

“Why?”

“I’m not going to do anything, I’m just going to show you,” Crowley sighed. He couldn’t believe what this angel put him through. But he was so rarely given an indication of how to express himself, and if Aziraphale would understand poetry today then it was worth a shot.

Aziraphale hesitated, Crowley counted three false starts before he finally stood. Then Crowley realised he would have to go through with it all. Aziraphale sat next to him on the couch, less drunk than he had seemed earlier, and waited for Crowley’s next move. 

“Don’t let me do anything, yeah?” Crowley muttered, all kinds of nervous. 

Aziraphale nodded. 

“Poetry, huh?” Crowley asked, delaying the inevitable. Except it wasn’t inevitable, he could say no more and leave and Aziraphale would let him. But he wanted to, he wanted to say it, he wanted another opportunity, then another, and another. 

“Well, I had to do something,” Aziraphale muttered. 

“Alright,” Crowley breathed. Then he took Aziraphale’s hand, glancing at his face to check how welcome or not that would be. Aziraphale let him, and simply looked at him curiously, blandly. Crowley’s lip wobbled for a moment, but he caught it and it stopped. 

Aziraphale had been about recently, so Crowley picked something modern. There were so many options, it would be impossible to choose, but in recent years there were less to sift through and he could pick one for now.

“I marveled,” Crowley whispered, reciting from perfect memory. He kept his face pointed towards their joined hands, but occasionally glanced at Aziraphale, peeking over his glasses to make sure he wasn’t going too far, saying more than the angel wanted to hear. “My beloved, when I read thy thought so in the letter.”

Crowley took a shaky breath. “I am thine-” Crowley’s throat caught. Aziraphale sat utterly still, staring at him with wide eyes. Crowley swallowed and continued. “But… so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine while my hands tremble?” Absurdly, embarrassingly, his hand in Aziraphale’s trembled in that moment. Crowley exhaled sharply and placed his other atop his and stopped it. “Then my soul,” he whispered, continuing the poem. 

Aziraphale’s hand moved within his to curl around his fingers. Crowley looked up at him, pausing to check. Aziraphale looked on seriously, sadly, with honour and reverence. Crowley took a breath and spoke, the next line was easier, but the following promised a challenge.

“Instead of dreams of death, resumes life’s lower range,” Crowley said softly, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes, holding his hand, marveling. “Then, love me, love, look on me-” Crowley panted quietly, somehow made nearly breathless from the quiet words. “Breathe on me,” he gasped. Aziraphale’s hand twitched.

Crowley shut his eyes and forced himself to finish, speaking faster than the poem encouraged. “As brighter ladies do not count it strange, for love, to give up acres and degree. I yield the grave for thy sake.” Crowley opened his eyes, finish right, finish right. He slowed his words, making it nice. “And exchange my near sweet view of Heaven for Earth with thee.”

Crowley breathed three more times, then slowly pulled his hands from Aziraphale’s grasp. “Not my words,” he muttered.

“No, I know them,” Aziraphale said. His voice croaked, low and touched. “I never thought them that.”

Crowley leaned away. “They don’t come close to doing it justice, angel,” he said quietly, quietly enough that if Aziraphale chose to ignore it, he could. 

“Do you need a minute?” Aziraphale asked gently.

Crowley glanced at him. He looked near tears. “Sure,” Crowley said, giving him the excuse to leave he wanted. And sure enough, at the moment of his response Aziraphale stood and hurried to his kitchen.

Crowley swayed in his seat, feeling very lonely. He could hear Aziraphale putting tea together in the next room and knew he would be left alone until the kettle boiled.

Crowley rested his head in his hands and worked on ignoring his feelings. The kettle began to whistle, the sound shrill and unpleasant, but something in it helped pull him back to where he was. 

By the time Aziraphale tentatively walked in with two cups of tea Crowley felt quite a lot like he could fake a good mood, so he did. 

“I hear she’s gone to Italy,” he volunteered, accepting the cup offered to him.

Aziraphale sat back in his chair. “Barrett Browning?”

“Yes, something about marrying someone and something.”

“I believe her father disapproved of the chap,” Aziraphale added. 

Crowley grinned. “Good for her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not much one for poetry personally, but these two are so extra I feel like it suits them and I've been looking for a poem that I'm happy to write in a fic for a while which has been tiresome! But I found this one and it's chill. I skipped the start in the fic cos I didn't want Crowley to monologue for too long.
> 
> Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,  
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?  
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine  
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?  
I marvelled, my Belovëd, when I read  
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine—  
But . . . so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine  
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead  
Of dreams of death, resumes life’s lower range.  
Then, love me, Love! look on me—breathe on me!  
As brighter ladies do not count it strange,  
For love, to give up acres and degree,  
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange  
My near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee!
> 
> Also, gotta say I feel for Az hearing this poem. Cos like it's love and sad and about love and so on, but it's also kinda about death and then ten years later Crowley rocks up like wassup gimme holy water


	3. Books and Aliens

**1942 A.D, in what until a moment ago was a church in London**

The bomb went off, then it stopped going off and Crowley couldn’t see anything. He pulled his glasses off and got to cleaning them as he wandered vaguely back towards Aziraphale. The sirens screamed in the distance, drowned out only by the people who screamed closer by. 

Crowley reached Aziraphale, who had taken his hat off to look around at the destroyed church with wide eyes. Crowley raised his eyebrows at him curiously, but was ignored. 

“That was very kind of you,” Aziraphale muttered. 

That was a stupid thing to say here and now. “Shut up,” Crowley admonished. He put his glasses back on. 

Aziraphale frowned at him, which was much more familiar. “Well, it was,” he said defensively. “No paperwork, for a start.” He looked around, his hand running through his hair in frantic worry. “Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books!” 

Crowley rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at the bag of books that sat right next to the panicked angel. 

“Oh, they’ll all be blown to-”

Crowley tugged the books out of the dead man’s hand with a grunt and held them out to Aziraphale. “Little demonic miracle of my own,” he explained. Aziraphale accepted the bag without looking at it, his face filled with wonder. Crowley fiercely ignored how much he liked that. “Lift home?” He offered.

He walked off, waiting for Aziraphale to finish checking the books for damage or whatever he wanted to do before he joined him. He counted impatiently to twenty before stalking back to the angel. He was still standing, staring vaguely off into the distance, a statue behind him pretending to be his wings.

“You coming, or shall I just- ?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale didn’t respond. “Aziraphale, do you want a lift?” Crowley snapped. 

Aziraphale jumped a little and looked at him. “What?” He asked. “Where?”

Crowley shrugged. “Where d’you wanna go?” He frowned sharply. “Are you alright?”

Aziraphale looked around at his surroundings, at the bag, and the approaching fire. “I'm- yes, I'm fine,” he said non-committedly. He shuffled away from the fire. “Just to the shop would be- yes,” he agreed. 

“Sure, in you pop,” Crowley said, waving at the car. Aziraphale watched him warily as he went to the car. 

Crowley took one last look at the church. That statue that had been his wings earlier was a bird now. Crowley liked the look of it. He hissed at the fire, warning it to not harm the statue.

Crowley clambered into the car. Aziraphale was sitting awkwardly in the passenger seat with the still unopened bag in his lap. “You sure you're alright?” Crowley asked. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed. 

Crowley was starting to get worried. Had Aziraphale not taken care of himself sufficiently? Maybe he had been tired and not up to the miracle Crowley had assumed of him. “Are you hurt?” 

Aziraphale glanced at him, once, twice, then again. What was going on? “Not a scratch, no,” he whispered. 

Crowley nodded and started the car, swinging them onto the road with a confidence he didn’t feel.

“That was-” Aziraphale said, but he stopped. 

“Hmm?” Crowley encouraged. 

Aziraphale let out a short breath. “Crowley,” he said heavily. 

“Hm?” 

Nothing else was said, so Crowley looked at him to check. Aziraphale was staring back at him, his eyes wide, his eyes _ wet _ . Crowley grimaced. “Fine, you’re welcome,” he said unwillingly. He returned his attention to the road. 

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale breathed.

“Just don't thank me, it was nothing,” he said. This all felt very serious and Crowley wasn’t into it.

“It was far from nothing,” Aziraphale said with a voice full of admiration.

“Eh,” Crowley said with a voice full of please drop this.

“It was well out of your way and it- it all means a good deal to me,” Aziraphale continued in a hushed voice.

Crowley was growing desperate to be allowed to shrug this off. “Well, you know. Not that far out of my way-” he swerved to avoid hitting a woman. “Watch the road!” He yelled.

Aziraphale flinched when he yelled and he regretted it instantly. No more yelling today. 

“Have you been in London, then?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

Crowley glanced at him. He was still holding onto the bag like it would stop him from drowning. “On and off, yeah,” Crowley admitted.

Aziraphale looked upset, so Crowley looked back at the road. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“We've gone centuries before,” Crowley dodged.

“Not lately.”

That was entirely true, but their fight about holy water had been uncommon and Crowley didn’t want to acknowledge it. Aziraphale didn’t say anything else though, he just let the soft accusation lay there.

“Should I pull over?” Crowley asked tensely. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer him. “Why haven’t I seen you?”

Crowley swallowed. “I’ve been dodging you,” he said far too honestly. His face burned with shame.

Aziraphale was quiet. The road went by smoothly, far more smoothly than it did for any other car but Crowley was keen to pour his attentions into anything other than this conversation.

“How do you do that?” Aziraphale finally asked. 

Crowley shrugged. “‘s’not hard, you’re not that subtle, you live and work in the one pl-”

“No, I mean,” Aziraphale interrupted. “You just say things. Things that are true and that aren’t the kind of thing one says easily.”

Crowley shrugged. “Don’t have to too often.”

Aziraphale nodded, then tried to speak. “How-” his throat gave out and the word devolved into a croak. He swallowed and tried again, apparently determined to punish Crowley tonight. “How did you know that you l-” he struggled with the word. Crowley found he was watching Aziraphale, not the road, his heart panicked. “That you lo-” Aziraphale tried again. He looked back at Crowley and somehow seemed to find strength in him. “Love me,” Aziraphale finished in a whisper. 

Crowley snapped his eyes back to the road. “I don’t feel like talking about that tonight,” he said.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said simply. Then, after a moment, a sad and lonely, “Very well,” followed. 

  
  
  
  
  


**1967 A.D, London again, in a nondescript apartment on a rich street**

Crowley could see him from his window. He’d been there for an hour- an hour! Just sitting on a public bench, reading a book and glancing up occasionally. Crowley had his lights off, like usual, so was fairly confident he couldn’t be seen from the street as he stood for an hour and watched Aziraphale make his way languidly through his book as he  _ sat _ for an  _ hour  _ in the s _ treet outside Crowley’s apartment _ . What in the incomprehensible  _ fuck _ . 

Crowley got fed up and went down to the street. He stalked across the road, already shouting at Aziraphale. “What are you doing?”

Aziraphale started guiltily and slammed his book shut. He flinched at the sound and looked apologetically down at the book, then looked back up at Crowley and stood to address him. “I’m waiting for the bus,” he said. 

Crowley decided to not bother pointing out that this wasn’t a bus stop, it was a just a chair. Well, he didn’t decide exactly, it was more that he was rendered speechless by the boldfaced lie and so just gaped at Aziraphale like a fish struggling to find food.

Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped under Crowley’s ridiculous challenge. “Alright, I wanted to check you were okay,” he admitted like it annoyed him to have to do so. “I should’ve come in with you the other day, made sure everything was put away safely for you.”

Crowley swallowed. He hadn’t thought that this came from a place of concern. He hadn’t really thought much more than a loud  _ what _ , if he was honest. But that was a surprise. Why was Aziraphale talking about this, he’d asked Crowley to slow down for him and Crowley meant to do just that. Whatever that meant. “I handled it,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, clearly,” he said. He relaxed and as he did so, he grinned. A full grin, complete, taking over not just his face but his whole essence. He looked at Crowley with relief and happiness. 

Crowley was either going to cry, die, or kiss him. None of the options sounded very good to him today.

“I’m going to go back in now,” Crowley said.

“Um,” Aziraphale said hurriedly. Crowley paused in his departure and looked at him, waving at him to speak quickly. “What’re you up to up there?” Aziraphale asked awkwardly. 

“Watching TV,” Crowley said shortly.

Aziraphale nodded. “What’s on?”

Crowley sniffed in annoyance. He could just walk away, but no he couldn’t really, could he? Physically, yes, he could, but he wouldn’t leave Aziraphale like that. He crossed his arms. “Do you know any TV shows?” He challenged. 

Aziraphale smiled warmly, leaning towards him. “Try me,” he said. 

“Star Trek.”

Aziraphale’s smile got slightly smaller. Crowley was relieved, if he whittled that down enough he would be able to leave. “I don’t know it,” Aziraphale admitted. 

Crowley shrugged. “It’s not that good, they think there are aliens. You know, up there.” He glanced up, then down quickly to see Aziraphale follow his gaze. He was beautiful and Crowley needed to leave or he was going to make a fool of himself. And possibly insult Aziraphale. Don’t go too fast. Would kissing him in the street be too fast? Probably. He opened his mouth to excuse himself again.

Aziraphale looked back down to him and quickly interrupted, like he knew Crowley wanted to leave and didn’t want to give him the chance. “How do you know there’s not?” He asked. 

Crowley glanced back at his apartment longingly, then gave up on it and took part in this conversation. He scoffed. “I built half the damn stars, angel,” he pointed out. 

Aziraphale shimmied a shoulder and Crowley was filled with love. “The Almighty may well have run some parallel experiments since your departure,” Aziraphale said smugly.

“I’d know if there were aliens,” Crowley said in as condescending, biting tone as he could summon. 

Aziraphale shook his head and his smile was simply breathtaking. “Would you?” Aziraphale asked.

“You’d tell me,” Crowley shot back.

Aziraphale seemed slightly taken aback. He paused, then frowned. “You’re so sure?” He asked. 

Crowley thought about it. He was sure Aziraphale would be honest, but to be fair Crowley had never asked and Aziraphale did dodge volunteering information sometimes. He looked at the sky again. “Are there aliens, Aziraphale?” He asked. 

“I don’t tell you everything, Crowley,” Aziraphale said in a subdued, muted voice. 

Crowley looked at him seriously. He dropped his arms to his side. Were there- there wouldn’t be- were there? “Are there aliens?” He squeaked.

“No, dear, there aren’t,” Aziraphale said gently.

“You’re a bastard and a tease,” Crowley said, pointing at him. 

Aziraphale looked away and Crowley wondered if he’d overstepped, and if he had what it had been. 

“But you trust my word?” Aziraphale asked. 

Yeah, Crowley had overstepped. He should’ve just been rude and left. He took a bolstering breath, then he quickly gave up. Defeat was a familiar taste these days. 

“I don’t understand how I’m going too fast, angel, I’m not trying to go anywhere,” he said. 

Aziraphale took a breath. “You say you love me-”

Crowley left. He crossed the road without thought, annoying a cyclist, and continued despite the sound of Aziraphale following behind. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried again, louder and desperate. “You say you-”

Crowley spun and shouted. “I do love you, angel, I’m not just saying it! I do.”

Aziraphale let out a tight breath. “You love me, then,” he said. Then more softly, like he was starting to believe it. “You love me.” They looked at each other, not caring how public this all was. “What do you want from me?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley shook his head. “Nothing, nothing more.”

“I can’t believe that-”

“Well you’d better-”

“What’s your objective with me?”

Crowley felt like screaming in frustration. To be so distrusted. He didn’t scream, but his annoyance certainly made itself known. “I don’t want anything! Just knowing that you’re- that you’re happy is enough.”

Aziraphale’s chest moved as he panted. “Crowley, that  _ can’t  _ be-”

“If you don’t believe me then you need to study up some more on love, it’s meant to be your area isn’t it, oh holy angel of the lord,” he finished sarcastically. 

Aziraphale grimaced. “Don’t be-”

Crowley stalked forwards, almost hissing as he approached Aziraphale. “Seeing you is more than I hope for,” he said furiously. “That you search me out sometimes is-” He stopped, lucky to have heard himself and realised what he was doing. He had to leave, really leave, not just go but  _ leave _ . He couldn’t be trusted. “I don’t want anything more, angel, I just don’t want to lose you,” he finally said.

Aziraphale gazed at him, not at all frightened by his anger, just amazed. “You say the most remarkable things sometimes, Crowley,” he muttered.

Crowley stood up straight. “I’m not going anywhere, Aziraphale, especially not fast. I am, however, going to go overseas for a bit. I think you want a bit of a break from me.”

“I have no idea what I want,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley wished for a moment that he could hate him, but all he felt was love, love, love.

“Well, good luck with that,” Crowley said, then slipped quickly through his door and locked it behind himself.

There was no sign of Aziraphale on the street again. Crowley went to Indonesia for five years. 


	4. Overwatering and Restraint

**2015 A.D, the long, winding entrance path of the Dowling residence**

Crowley lagged behind the family as they stalked up the driveway, each member furious with the others. She spotted Aziraphale off to the side, standing up with exaggerated struggle on the far edge of the flower beds. A few dawdling steps later and she decided that no one would notice if she didn’t enter the house in time with everyone, Warlock had headphones on (although Crowley knew they were broken, they’d broken days ago but the seven year old was too scared to tell his parents, he was just making a point to disengage. Crowley was determined to work on him there, she needed a strong and brave Antichrist to stand up to everyone at the end) and the parents were pointedly not bickering, rather they were separating further apart so as to enter the house through different doors.

Crowley slipped off the path and walked over to Aziraphale quietly. He put his spade down and moved warily around the flowers, keeping an eye on the departing family. 

“Today was a disaster,” Crowley spat as she got close enough to speak without being overheard. The ground was badly soggy and her inch heel began to sink into the soil. “Total shit-show.”

“I'm sorry,” Aziraphale commiserated softly.

“Tcheh,” Crowley complained, both about the day and the difficulty she was having walking. 

Aziraphale put his elbow out to help her, which she gladly accepted. He moved them carefully further into the yard, in amongst the many trees. 

“Did you enjoy the play?” Aziraphale asked as the ground grew harder. Crowley really needed to talk to him about over watering, this was atrocious. 

“Barely saw it,” Crowley said. Then, because it was true and she’d spent many hours holding her tongue and didn’t feel like it anymore, she added, “Those two need to get divorced.”

Aziraphale’s arm moved as he silently chuckled. “Oh, of course you're in favour of divorce,” he said lightly. 

Crowley would have snatched her arm back from Aziraphale’s grasp if she hadn’t been enjoying the sensation of leaning on him so much. As such she continued to hold on, but snapped in more frustration than strictly necessary to make up for it. “Well, what d'you think'll fix it? They're horrible to each other.”

“They have made a commitment, Crowley-”

“Nanny, c'mon, we're still here,” Crowley entreated. “And they torment each other, it's a self imposed prison.”

“Miss Ashtoreth, then,” Aziraphale said gently. Then he took a breath and spoke in that tone that Crowley never quite believed. “They got married in the eyes of God, that is too big a promise to simply turn your back on because it's not fun anym-”

“Not fun!” Crowley interrupted in outrage. She threw a hand out, clinging tighter with her other to make sure Aziraphale didn’t let go. “She's miserable! He hates coming home!”

Aziraphale spoke like he was quoting, it was particularly condescending. “If they had love once they can find it again through God's love.”

Crowley considered poking fun at him for it, but she was in a pretty foul mood and didn’t feel like laughing. “I'm not sure God has anything to do with this household,” she muttered.

Aziraphale glanced at her for a few seconds more than she expected. Then his spare hand rested over hers, holding her to his arm. Their pace slowed, but did not stop. “Of course She does, the Antichrist is here, She must be watching,” Aziraphale said like he wished he were saying something else.

They took a few more steps, and took their time with it. Crowley didn’t know how to respond to Aziraphale right now. He still held her hand to him, not trapping her, but supporting. Crowley sighed and took the easiest topic. “Divorce has returned power to many people who would have otherwise spent their entire lives being trodden on, it can be the kindest thing.”

Aziraphale’s thumb ran over her knuckles. “If you make a promise to God, you must keep it,” he muttered. “Despite the pain it may cause you, you are bound.”

Crowley stopped walking and pretended to study a flower. “Are you?” She asked. She wondered which understanding of the question Aziraphale would answer.  _ Are you, _ as in, is one bound? In the hypothetical of a vow to God, are humans trapped for life? Or  _ Are you, _ Aziraphale, the angel of Heaven, caught irrevocably to a vow you once made, with no option to escape and make your own choices. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale sighed.

Well, that was ambiguous. Crowley began walking again. “So,” She prodded, “She punishes even those who love Her,  _ especially _ those who love Her.”

Aziraphale sighed. “It's not punishment, it's loyalty,” he said weakly.

“Or is it fear?” Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale stopped. He slipped his arm out from Crowley’s, then took her hand quickly in both of his, keeping her close. Crowley froze, caught extraordinarily by surprise.

“I figured out what I want, Crowley,” he said seriously, looking up at her. 

Crowley stayed frozen, not sure what to say or how to say what she didn’t know what to say.

Aziraphale waited a few beats, misery showing in the corners of his eyes. “There are conflicts inherent,” he said.

Crowley pulled her hand from Aziraphale’s grasp. The air was cold and unkind. “I won’t ask you to break a vow that matters to you,” she said.

“I know,” Aziraphale gasped. His were shaking. “I can’t have you, but I want you.”

“You want me?” Crowley breathed.

“Yes.”

She felt dizzy. “And you’ve thought about it?” She checked.

“Yes.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

  
  
  


**2019 A.D, in a bookshop in Soho with a perfect tax record**

She sat on the couch, shoes kicked off an hour ago, wine glass lazy in her hand as they steadily made their way through a bottle. She and Aziraphale had spent many, many nights together since the beginning of this whole Antichrist business and things had gotten notably less formal, less performative. Crowley had shrugged off her tight Nanny jacket immediately upon arrival, more interested in her own comfort than maintaining appearances for Aziraphale’s sake, and Aziraphale had taken to the habit of popping his teeth out and returning to his normal hair as soon as the moment allowed. 

They sat now in a comfortable companionship, Crowley half undressed with a partly open blouse and skirt hiked to let her sit as she liked, Aziraphale back in his timeless waistcoat and slacks.

“I was jus’ gonna sneak in as a waiter or something,” Crowley muttered, answering a question Aziraphale had asked about a minute ago. Things weren’t feeling rushed tonight, that would come in a week or two when Warlock’s eleventh birthday hit, but right now it was calm.

Aziraphale smiled. “So pedestrian,” he teased.

Crowley smirked. She wasn’t really enjoying her gender tonight, it wasn’t meshing with her mood. She shut her eyes and reorganised a few things quickly, it wasn’t a close study of a male form, but it felt like coming home so he was sure it was fine. He took his lipstick away as he did, but left the eyeliner for a bit of fun. 

Crowley stretched, enjoying his body again. His foot kicked Aziraphale lightly as he did, but he snatched it back from truly colliding with the angel’s leg. He grinned at Aziraphale’s chuckle as he trailed a hand through his hair, messing up the last hints of his Nanny do. “Ah. I might cut this off,” he muttered as he relaxed back into his seat. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed. Then, very slowly, he reached out and tucked some loose flying hairs behind Crowley’s ear. Crowley stared, shocked into stillness as he was touched. Aziraphale’s fingers lingered on his jaw, trailing gently across his skin. 

Crowley swallowed. He was caught, eyes locked with Aziraphale’s, every tender part of him alight. “I’ve enjoyed spending more time with you these last years,” Crowley croaked. 

Aziraphale’s hand dropped. “Me too,” he whispered. “I wish-”

“We had longer?” Crowley suggested with a smile.

“Precisely. Before it all…”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale pinched his eyes shut for a second, when he opened them again they were wet and sad. “I’m sorry I make you say it all.”

“It’s-” Crowley started, then shook his head. “All good,” he said sincerely.

Aziraphale nodded. “Do you recall what I said four years ago?”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale moved bodily towards him. He wasn’t a graceful creature and the action portrayed that, but Crowley didn’t start, didn’t skitter away, he just slipped his legs close to himself to make enough room for the angel. That sat close now, gazes meeting seriously. 

As they settled, Aziraphale reached out again and touched the edge of Crowley’s pressed curls gently. When Crowley continued to sit there and let him, he got bolder. He slipped his fingers into Crowley’s hair in earnest, pressing against Crowley’s scalp confidently, dragging his touch with enough direction to encourage Crowley to lean forwards. 

Crowley softened and did so, moving towards Aziraphale hesitantly. As he did, Aziraphale moved his hand back through Crowley’s hair, wrapping his fingers around the base of Crowley’s neck and holding his head warmly. Crowley wasn’t panting, but his chest moved as if he were. In fact he was struggling to breathe at all. He nearly overbalanced and his hands scrambled to hold him up, one landing on Aziraphale’s knee. Crowley let out a puff of air at the new point of contact, then embraced it, his fingers clutching onto Aziraphale’s pant leg tightly. 

Aziraphale stared at him, unblinking, and leaned in.

“Aziraphale-” Crowley gasped. 

Aziraphale stilled, his eyes flickered to Crowley’s lips and Crowley was entirely certain as to what was happening. Then Aziraphale licked his lips as he watched Crowley’s and Crowley realised all at once that he wasn’t prepared.

“D’you remember what I said in Greece?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale’s lips parted hopefully, his gaze returning to Crowley’s eyes. “That you love me,” he whispered. 

His hand was still in Crowley’s hair, holding him close. They’d both leaned, tilting across the distance wantonly. They sat now, their faces barely inches apart, able to taste the other’s breath in the air as they tried to coordinate this.

“Yeah, that too, but-”

Aziraphale interrupted. “I love you too, Crowley,” he said gently. His thumb trembled against the base of Crowley’s head.

Crowley whimpered, then clamped his jaw shut to try and stop his lip from wobbling. 

“But what?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley fled. Not far, just to the edge of the couch, but he ran from Aziraphale’s touch. He gave no warning and his hair was tugged painfully by the unprepared angel as he flung himself against the arm of the couch, hands flying to hide his face, to drag across his skin and override the intense and consuming vibration of being touched. 

He glanced at Aziraphale, just for a moment, then covered his eyes for another second. The sight of Aziraphale, shocked and open mouthed, upset, confused, was going to stay with him for a while. He rubbed his eyes hard.

“I can’t just once, angel, I-” Crowley said, his voice muffled by his hands. He pressed against his face one more time, then dragged his fingers through his hair harshly, trying to wipe himself of the memory of Aziraphale’s very different touch. “You’re acting like you’re going to kiss me,” Crowley said desperately. 

Aziraphale held his hands in his lap, both visibly shaking as he looked at Crowley. “Yes,” he confirmed. 

Crowley imagined it for a second. He could throw himself across this distance now, wrap his arms around Aziraphale and kiss him. Or he could take one of Aziraphale’s hands and kiss the back of it, then the front, then surely Aziraphale would interrupt to kiss him in return. To have Aziraphale kiss him, to press him against the arm of the couch, to lean not just towards him but into him, heavy above him, he could have that now.

He could slip off the couch and kneel before him, express himself and Aziraphale would wrap his hands around his head and lift him to his lips, kissing him from above like a blessing. He could clamber into Aziraphale’s lap and touch him and be touched and he knew, he  _ knew  _ Aziraphale would let it happen tonight. But would he let it happen again tomorrow? 

“You don’t want to,” Aziraphale observed quietly.

Crowley wondered vaguely if he was going to cry, his throat was tight in that way. He hadn’t since the plague, but maybe this would do it. “I’ll never want to stop,” he admitted. “I want you forever, Aziraphale.” 

He sat forward, unable to help himself. He reached and Aziraphale let him so he wrapped both his hands around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, his thumbs resting just under his jaw. “Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated breathlessly, reverently. “Aziraphale, I have no doubts.”

Aziraphale wrapped his hands around Crowley’s wrists, his thumbs pressing with desperate fondness into his skin, into his pulse. “None?” Aziraphale asked. “You don’t think there’s the slightest chance that God would boil us both the moment we succumb?”

Crowley shut his eyes and felt his disappointment with bitter strength for a moment, before relegating it away and accepting the patience he always had. His hands slipped from around Aziraphale’s neck and he sat back against the arm of the couch slowly. Aziraphale let him go, his grip on Crowley’s wrists not anywhere near enough to imply he must stay. “I don’t, no, I don’t. And when you feel the same way, you kiss me. Right that second, you don’t have to ask, just do. But until then, I can’t be-” Crowley stopped and took a breath. “I don’t want to cause you discord.”

“When?” Aziraphale repeated, his tone difficult to decode. Teasing? Relieved? Flattered? 

“I can’t live thinking we won’t ever-” Crowley stopped, swallowing the last of his words. He shouldn’t pressure him, he didn’t need anything so any pressure would be misplaced. And he knew,  _ he knew _ that if he pushed Aziraphale too far he would turn around and leave, he simply wasn’t there yet. There was very little time left, but there was still some and Aziraphale could take it.

“I don’t mean to assume your affection, but when is all I’ve got,” Crowley ended up saying. 

Aziraphale smiled, leaving him with when. “Please remember, I’m Heaven’s,” he said seriously. “But I do love you.”

Crowley ran his hand across his face again and nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's your angst and pining for ya, lads <3


	5. Wine and Ritz

**2019 A.D, on a lovely street in Tadfield**

They walked in a quiet companionship down the dark street. Aziraphale had suggested they walk to town together, perhaps to settle their nerves, but Crowley suspected he’d simply had enough of explaining the set up of afterlives to Wesley. 

The walk hadn’t calmed Crowley the way he’d needed. He was strained and tired and his mind was running through worries and fears and memories of things he regretted saying. All the ways this had gone wrong, all the ways it could have but hadn’t, all the ways things seemed to have just been luck. 

“I, ah-” Crowley mumbled to himself. Or to Aziraphale. Or just to put some spoken word into the air between them. 

Aziraphale looked at him, continuing to walk along by him. “Yes, dear?” He asked.

Crowley took him in. He was casually carrying a large cardboard box full of deeply powerful objects and didn’t seem to mind one bit. The sword was unlit and sat atop the box precariously, but Crowley knew it wouldn’t fall. Aziraphale was good with that sword, it was his after all. 

Crowley thought about what he wanted to say, trying to summarise the whirlwind within him. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Aziraphale frowned incredibly. “You-”

“I pushed you, I pushed hard. I-” Crowley mouthed a few words, his chest tightening enough to strangle his speech. He gasped, trying to free himself up. He was still so scared, so sorry. “I thought we were done for, out of time, and I got selfish, I-”

Aziraphale interrupted gently. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. Let me finish. I stopped thinking about what you were ready for, what you wanted, and I just tried to take and it-” It had killed him, Crowley had pushed Aziraphale so hard that the angel had been forced to turn tail and run and he’d run straight to Heaven because of course he would, that was where he should have been safe and cared for especially once Crowley had ruined their dance. And he’d died. Not actually, as it turned out, but close enough. The risks Crowley had made Aziraphale take alone just because he’d been selfish were unbelievable. He’d flung himself out of Heaven, possessed a human, refused to fight. Questioned God. Those were the sorts of things angels Fell for. 

Crowley sighed mightily, trying to wrangle a clamp on his emotions. Everything was too raw right now, he was exhausted, physically and mentally, and he was filled with regret. There were so many things he could’ve done better, should’ve done better. He glanced at Aziraphale. He should’ve been better for him. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered when they met eyes.

“I love you, angel, and I swear I won’t do it again, none of it. I swear.” 

“Crowley, my dear, I think you need to calm down a touch,” Aziraphale suggested gently.

Crowley laughed miserably. “Do I?” He asked with sad sarcasm.

“Yes,” Aziraphale pressed. “We’re not out of the woods yet, but we’ll get there.” Then Aziraphale stepped quickly in front of him and stopped and began piling the box and sword into Crowley’s arms without ceremony. “Now you wait here, just take this for me for a moment, and I’ll just pop into that bottle shop and pick us up something nice.”

Crowley looked in the direction of Aziraphale’s indication curiously. It was late, the bottle shop was closed. “I’m not sure-” he began to say warily, but as Aziraphale marched confidently off a light turned on inside and the sign on the door flipped to  _ Open _ . “Alright,” Crowley allowed. 

“I’ll be right back,” Aziraphale called out as he crossed the road. 

Crowley waited patiently, watching the sword closely for signs of lighting up. He would drop the whole box in a moment if it did, he didn’t like that item much.

Before long Aziraphale returned, and remarkably Crowley hadn’t fallen into a panic in his absence. The angel took the box back, taking a moment to organise himself to hold the box and sword with one arm, leaving his other free to pass the wine bottle to Crowley. 

“We should get back to London,” Crowley suggested as he unscrewed the cap. He had a swig and passed it to Aziraphale. 

“Yes.”

“There’s a bus stop down that street.”

They walked, the bottle passing between them occasionally as they did. The street wasn’t abysmally long, but it wasn’t short and they didn’t rush.

Aziraphale accepted the bottle from Crowley again and looked at it sadly. “I’ve said some quite cruel things to you lately,” he said. Crowley was fairly sure he was being addressed, not the bottle of wine Aziraphale was looking at. 

“Nah,” he said, shrugging it off. 

Aziraphale sighed and took a drink. He held the bottle tightly by the neck and looked at Crowley as they strolled. “I have, dear, I-”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted. 

“Yes?”

“Stop hogging the wine, would ya?”

Aziraphale smiled and passed the wine back to Crowley. 

They reached the bus stop and sat down. The wine bottle had barely lowered in volume and Crowley was very relieved to not have to think about refilling it down the road. 

“Well. That all didn’t go at all how I expected,” Aziraphale admitted. 

Crowley nodded in agreement. “No, not really.”

Aziraphale glanced at him. “It’s all worked out for the best, though. Just imagine how awful it would’ve been if we’d been at all competent.”

“Oh, ah,” Crowley said as he imagined it. They were here, together on a bench. Not out of the woods, but not far off it. If things had gone his way they would likely be off in Alpha Centauri having a row. “Point taken,” he agreed. 

  
  
  
  
  


**2019 A.D, at a table for two made miraculously available at the Ritz**

Aziraphale had been talking since they’d shared their first drink with very little input from Crowley. It was like a bull set loose, joyfully destroying his captors living room. Crowley nodded and smiled and quipped and Aziraphale just kept talking and it was wonderful. 

He discussed his trip to the province of Champagne a few centuries ago, then talked about a song he’d heard on the Arc, even humming a few bars in an effort to get Crowley to name it. He talked about the modern failings of radios and Crowley didn’t have the heart to tell him that half the problems he’d named had gone unfixed but were now obsolete. He threw a few insults towards Gabriel, but moved on at Crowley’s unpleasant expression and suggested they leave. 

They strolled out of the Ritz together and Aziraphale complained about how challenging he’d found the heel on Crowley’s shoe and  _ how do you move like that in them, dear, I couldn’t even attempt it, I was terrified I’d trip!  _ And Crowley laughed and muttered enough of a response for him to carry on happily talking. Crowley watched, enraptured.

He was treated to a description of Aziraphale’s favourite performance of  _ Much Ado About Nothing _ and the details that had set it apart, then the angel slyly suggested a more risque performance he’d seen advertised that they could perhaps go and watch together some time now that Heaven wouldn’t mind his seeing a play called  _ Wicked! _

They arrived at the bookshop as the conversation finally turned away from the needlessness of colour television. Crowley held the door open for Aziraphale and watched in relief and joy as the angel swanned around the space.

“Oh my gosh it is good to be back,” Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, look at it, Crowley, it’s perfect!”

Crowley smiled and looked pointedly at the collection of Crompton books. Aziraphale followed his gaze and sighed, although his smile did not fade. 

“Well, maybe I can sell a few things,” Aziraphale muttered to Crowley.

Crowley leant against the door frame and crossed his arms, smirking at the angel. “Should I get us a drink or would you like to, ah, reacquaint yourself?”

Aziraphale took a step towards him. “Oh, stay!” He entreated. Then he glanced about and smiled. “I may have a quick poke around, but pour me a glass, pour me a glass,” he said as he strolled off, waving back at Crowley absentmindedly. 

Crowley nodded at his retreating figure and went off in search of wine. He found a decent bottle easily and carefully sniffed it in case Adam had put his hands on it. It seemed fine so he threw himself onto Aziraphale’s couch and poured them both a generous glass. It tasted fine too, and so Crowley relaxed.

He sat with his head tipped back and his eyes closed behind his glasses as he listened to the sounds of Aziraphale rediscovering his bookshop. Drawers were opened and flitted through, books resorted and hummed over. They occasional mutter of  _ oh, I’ve lost that bookmark, _ or, _ I swear this wasn’t here, _ or,  _ I’d forgotten all about this beauty  _ made its way to Crowley, and each made him smile. 

Footsteps grew louder, but Crowley didn’t realise how close until-

“Are you tired, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley opened his eyes and tipped his head forward to see him. He stood in the light of the day, holding a stack of at least a dozen thick books. He’d taken his jacket off at some point, and slipped into his indoor shoes with the softer sole to maintain the floorboards. He looked gently at Crowley, all concern.

“Nah, just dozing,” Crowley muttered. 

Aziraphale smiled greatly. “What a day,” he said rapturously. “My Wilde is collection is precisely as I left it.”

“That’s good.”

Aziraphale stepped forwards and carefully put his pile of books on the coffee table. “Would you like to check on your car?” He asked.

Crowley shook his head. “She’ll be fine, I”ll have a drive later tonight.”

Aziraphale bit his lip and glanced up at him. “Or tomorrow, perhaps?” He suggested quietly.

Crowley paused, then slowly agreed. “Probably that too.” 

Aziraphale frowned, the expression more sad than annoyed. Crowley sat forward, looking at him seriously. He felt like he’d answered incorrectly. He opened his mouth to correct himself, but he didn’t know what was right or wrong here and he had no idea what to say so he sat with his mouth slightly open and said nothing. 

“Oh, I must check my tea cabinet,” Aziraphale muttered, and left.

Crowley sat back and frowned to himself, trying to figure out what to do. He felt very antsy, like he ought to be doing something, but he couldn’t figure out what that would be. 

“Dear,” Aziraphale called from the next room, his voice very tight, very stressed. Crowley’s body went taut as he prepared to leap up to help, but Aziraphale’s next words stopped him flat. “Do you recall the other day when you encouraged me to kiss you when I was more sure about it all?”

There was a beat of very solid, tangible silence as Crowley filtered those words into his understanding. “Entirely sure, yes,” he called back with a correction. The correction mattered to him. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat and the sounds of various kitchen appliances being opened and closed filled the air. After a few seconds of this, he spoke again. “Entirely sure, of course. After everything that’s happened, does that stand true?”

“Yes,” Crowley repeated warily. He was determined not to push again, not ever, but he was also, by nature, honest. 

Aziraphale walked back into the room. He was a bright red, his entire face taken with a blush. “Adam has filled my fridge with pop drinks,’ he said. 

“Oh dear,” Crowley commiserated. 

Aziraphale glanced with chagrin at the kitchen. “No matter,” he said like it mattered a good deal. Then he walked to the couch, took Crowley’s face in his hands, and kissed him full on the mouth. 

Crowley made a desperate, strangled sound in the back of his throat, then grabbed Aziraphale’s waistcoat to help him and stood. He slipped one hand into Aziraphale’s hair and kissed him back eagerly. 

One of Aziraphale’s hands made its way to the small of Crowley’s back and pulled him close, holding him in place not tightly, but solidly. The kiss would have been gentle but for the desperate need for more that clamoured in both of them. They tugged at each other with their hands, lips, teeth, bringing their bodies into as much contact as a human form could allow while standing and clothed, and they kissed. 

Crowley’s body did some distinctly non human things in shock, but he managed to keep a lid on it. Sparks of excitement and love trailed through him, fusing joints that ought to bend, adding vertebrae, shifting hidden areas of skin into scales. But as Crowley moved his body allowed it, rearranging muscles to respond appropriately as he wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s upper back and pulled him in, as he took a half step forwards and pressed against Aziraphale’s body, as he kissed and kissed the angel who kissed him. 

Aziraphale ran a hand through Crowley’s hair and Crowley whimpered, the hand in Aziraphale's waistcoat tightening, then letting go to palm around his side, to feel his soft body more. Aziraphale’s thumb brushed his ear, accidentally knocking his glasses askew.

Aziraphale hummed and stopped kissing Crowley. “Sorry, dear,” he murmured, his lips brushing Crowley’s as spoke. He pulled back and fumbled to set Crowley’s glasses in place again. 

Crowley felt like laughing and crying all at once. Instead he raised a shaking hand to bat Aziraphale’s hands away. “Don’t be-” he muttered as he grabbed his glasses and threw them off to the side. “Ridiculous,” he said fondly, returning to kiss Aziraphale more. 

His body calmed down and returned to a stable human form as Aziraphale continued to kiss him, as he didn’t panic and back out and talk about belonging to Heaven or denied ever even liking him or asked him to slow down. 

Aziraphale gripped the back of his jacket tight and held him close. Then the kiss deepened and Aziraphale moaned into his mouth, making Crowley’s heart skip a beat, then pick up at twice the pace. Crowley’s hands roamed from Aziraphale’s shoulders to his hair, trembling as he used this moment to touch the skin of his neck, the soft flutter under his ear, the curls that began to grow on his nape. 

"You're sure?" Crowley asked quickly, the words muffled by Aziraphale’s lips, but clear enough to be understood. Aziraphale began to pull away and Crowley immediately regretting interrupting such nice kissing for so menial a question, so Crowley grabbed his shirt and kept him close. "Never mind," he gasped, "jus' ignore that."

But Aziraphale caught his face and held him, their lips barely a centimeter apart. "Yes, dear, I'm sure," he muttered. 

Aziraphale held him and kissed him gently, controlling the pace directly. Crowley stood, hands in Aziraphale's shirt, and was kissed. Soft, carefully tended lips pressed against his own chapped ones in earnest. 

Crowley began to tentatively relax. As he did, he sighed and on that sigh was another question, or the same question again. Whatever it was he didn’t mean to say it. "Sure you're sure?" He breathed. 

Aziraphale smiled. "Now you're making fun," he teased. 

But Crowley wasn't. He smiled and tried to laugh it off, but his false humour didn't have a chance to form before it soured. "You said- you said," he gasped. He let out a tired breath and told himself off, momentarily furious. 

Crowley shook his head minutely and leaned in to kiss Aziraphale and hopefully quieten himself. 

Aziraphale stopped him with a soft but sure hand on his chest. Crowley stilled and exhaled with little hope, looking down at Aziraphale's hand rather than meet his eyes. He felt entirely disappointed in himself, he could and should be braver, more trusting. He did trust, though, he just needed that little bit more to fall into it so entirely.

Aziraphale leaned and gently pressed his lips to Crowley's, just in a peck, leaving before Crowley had a chance to reciprocate. 

"I've said an awful lot lately," Aziraphale admitted. He pressed his thumb against Crowley's chest, just below his collarbone. "Look at me now," Aziraphale asked gently, so Crowley braved it and did. Aziraphale was nowhere near as sad as Crowley had expected him to be. In fact he seemed quite overjoyed.

Aziraphale smiled as their eyes met. He returned a hand to the back of Crowley's neck, holding him in place. "I love you," Aziraphale said seriously. Crowley would have swayed with the strength of it were he not held so solidly. "And the thought of having you makes me so truly happy."

Crowley believed him, he adored him and if Aziraphale knew himself to be ready, who was Crowley to refute that? He pushed against Aziraphale’s hand, trying to get to him, to kiss him, to say it was all okay. 

Aziraphale stopped him, continuing to speak, unaware that Crowley didn’t need any more words. “I'm completely sure, my love, I am, and I know it will take some convincing because I am so very-”

“Nope,” Crowley interrupted.

“What's- pardon?” Aziraphale said, befuddled.

Crowley grinned and leaned harder, encouraging Aziraphale to let him get close. Aziraphale did and Crowley kissed the corner of his mouth gently. “I'm convinced, all good,” he said happily.

Aziraphale gaped. “How?”

Crowley had no idea how to explain that. That Aziraphale had always been careful, had always considered his action ten times more than necessary before making a decision. That while he may have been cruel to Crowley in the past, especially the recent past, he had never toyed with him, never encouraged him merely to be cruel. That Crowley had seen the signs of how Aziraphale had wanted him in return before Aziraphale had admitted it, that the tentative and gentle way Aziraphale had come around to his own feelings had proved how seriously he took Crowley's. 

Crowley didn’t have the words to describe how he trusted Aziraphale, that he’d given Aziraphale his heart millennia ago, before he'd even realised he had, and he was ready for it to be reciprocated.

He trusted him and would take very little convincing.

  
So instead of trying to describe it all, instead of tripping over his words and fucking it up and  _ blushing _ , Crowley just kissed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy they kissed! Next chapter kicks right off w sex, just a heads up if youre powering through this in your mother's living room or something


	6. Sex

**2020 A.D in a relatively newly furnished loft studio of inappropriate height in Soho**

Crowley shifted his hips as slowly as he could, he wanted to feel every moment of Aziraphale around him. They lay in Crowley's bed, Crowley behind his angel, arms wrapped around him, one pair of hands caught together and holding on tight, the other free and desperately seeking flesh to grip. Crowley kissed Aziraphale's shoulder, gasping quietly as he moved his hips, pulling out of him with deliberate care. He paused, the head of his dick in Aziraphale's ass, and waited a moment, letting their breaths be heard.

Aziraphale moaned and lifted Crowley's hand to his lips, kissing him with a tremble. "Darling, darling," Aziraphale muttered against Crowley's knuckles. Crowley gripped Aziraphale's hip tightly and began to push back in, moving inexorably gently.

"Oh, darling, my darling," Aziraphale gasped. He held Crowley's hand tightly against his mouth, kissing him when he remembered, just breathing against his fingers when he didn't. His other hand found Crowley's on his hip and traveled delicately up his arm, scratching absently at his skin. 

Crowley grabbed a handful of Aziraphale's stomach and moaned, kissing the back of his neck, his spine, any and all that he reached. He finished pressing in and stopped again, crotch pressed to Aziraphale's ass joyfully, completely inside him. 

They breathed together for a beat, then Crowley rolled his hips, still pressed tight, and they gasped at the same moment. Crowley shut his eyes and forced himself to stay in control; Aziraphale was making noises that he never wanted to stop hearing. 

Crowley wrapped his arm around Aziraphale, almost gripping his shoulder as he pulled the angel close. Then, holding Aziraphale in place, he began to pull out again. "Oh!" Aziraphale cried, his body twitching as Crowley moved out of him. He moaned and shivered but did not chase Crowley's cock, he simply let himself be held and fucked the way that Crowley was fucking him. 

The air was cold and Crowley didn't wait this time. As soon as he'd pulled out he switched direction and pushed back in. Aziraphale's arm rested over both of them, stretched backwards to hold Crowley's hip tightly. As Crowley pushed in, sooner than his pattern had warned for, Aziraphale bucked and scratched Crowley's hip mightily in surprise. 

Crowley hissed into Aziraphale's shoulder- he was so close. He felt like he'd lain in the sun for hours and could hear the approaching waves of the sea, ready to take him. But Aziraphale's clipped whimper and desperate sigh held him, so he let go of his shoulder and took Aziraphale's hip in hand again, keeping him still as he fucked his angel as slowly and entirely as he could. 

"Crowley- oh, Crowley, oh my-" Aziraphale gasped as Crowley moved. Then Crowley was in, every bit of him warm and held and he groaned, shivering as he wrapped his arms tighter, holding Aziraphale to his chest. 

Aziraphale's hand found Crowley's hair, fumbling blindly to touch him. His fingers grazed the tip of Crowley's ear and Crowley whimpered. "Are you close, my love?" Aziraphale whispered. 

"Yes- yeah-" Crowley gasped. It was all too good, he wasn't sure he could control himself enough for another languid thrust. 

Aziraphale felt his face, his fingers skating over his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose with reverence. "My mouth," he whispered, "I want you in my mouth. I want to taste your finish."

Crowley nearly came from the words, but he held it, he shut his eyes and gasped and trembled and held it. "Yeah," he agreed. "What do- how d'you want to finish?" He asked, his voice muffled as he kissed Aziraphale's back.

Aziraphale's ass tightened as Crowley kissed him and Crowley moaned, bucking into him automatically. Aziraphale gasped as Crowley moved, the gasp turning into a delighted moan as Crowley stilled again. 

"I think I want to come in you again," Aziraphale said quietly, his voice weak. "May I?

That was how they'd found their way to bed in the first place, perhaps an hour ago now. Aziraphale had arrived earlier in the day without warning and for no reason other than to see Crowley. They'd talked, they'd laughed, they'd bickered. Crowley showed him which plants had bloomed since his last visit, then Aziraphale had fingered him against the back of his throne and they'd quickly found their way to bed where Crowley had been fucked until he'd come without his dick even being touched. 

Then they'd simply rolled over and Crowley hasn't been able to keep his hands to himself and so had spent nearly thirty minutes now calmly, lazily fucking Aziraphale. It had become more serious perhaps ten minutes ago and the casual conversation they’d kept alive as Crowley had initially fingered him and had his way had died as they dissolved into desperate gasps, both not wanting to stop, both beyond ready to finish. 

"Of course," Crowley agreed. His ass was still wet, still loose from Aziraphale's earlier effort. If he wanted to take him again, he certainly could. 

Crowley pulled his hand from Aziraphale's, slipping it out from under him, and pressed against the small of his back to hold him as he pulled out one last time. Aziraphale moaned loudly.

Crowley slid out completely, his dick was enormously hard and the last tight pull nearly tipped him over. He gasped and whimpered as he calmed himself, focusing on the empty, cold air to keep himself from coming. 

Aziraphale rolled onto his back quickly and looked at Crowley. Crowley hadn't seen his face for some time, he had fucked him from behind after all, and he was breathtaking. His hair was a mess, his eyes bright, his lips bitten. "On me," Aziraphale instructed without ceremony. 

Crowley wasn't one to ignore a hidden request from his angel, so when he outright asked for something Crowley leapt to action. He shuffled forwards and knelt next to Aziraphale's head. He'd meant to take a moment to have one last look, check one last time, but Aziraphale didn't give him the chance as he grabbed Crowley's thigh and ass and lifted his leg over, manhandling him confidently into place. 

Crowley's cock sat resting on Aziraphale's cheek, but barely for a moment. Aziraphale turned quickly to take him, so Crowley helped and knelt up, letting the head of his dick fall into Aziraphale's open mouth. 

Crowley gripped the bedhead and watched, utterly wrecked as Aziraphale closed his eyes and moaned, licking the tip of Crowley's cock rapturously. He licked, then he licked again and sucked and- "Angel," Crowley gasped. Aziraphale opened his eyes as his tongue moved slowly but with great pressure on Crowley's dick. "I'm so close, angel, so close," Crowley said breathlessly.

Aziraphale relaxed his lips then his hand caught Crowley's hips and pulled him down surely. Crowley fell slowly, his cock sliding with practiced ease into Aziraphale's throat. Crowley whimpered, watching amazed as Aziraphale's eyes watered but he didn't hesitate, didn't falter. 

Crowley felt Aziraphale's lips against the base of his dick and moaned. He could feel Aziraphale's pulse, or maybe it was his own, it didn't matter. He gripped the headboard tightly and leaned forward gently, changing the angle of his cock in Aziraphale's throat. He could come from this, likely within a minute, he wouldn't need to thrust at all. Aziraphale swallowed and Crowley gasped, then Aziraphale's thumb found Crowley's ass and slipped easily inside and Crowley yelled in surprise and immediate, overwhelming arousal. He thrust into Aziraphale's mouth on instinct, managing enough awareness to be careful and gentle, and Aziraphale took it, swallowing and fingering his ass as he bucked. Within seconds Crowley came, shouting loud and wordlessly as he did. 

Aziraphale was gentle, his throat tensing and swallowing the load as his tongue glided along Crowley's length as he shivered and calmed. Crowley leant against the headboard and wall, looking down in love at Aziraphale. Their eyes met and Aziraphale curled his thumb inside Crowley, sparking lust and excitement through him, making him buck again. "Fuck," Crowley spat, the sensation overloading him utterly. 

Crowley's soft dick slid out of Aziraphale's mouth as he was fingered and, without waiting for a moment, Aziraphale pulled himself out from between Crowley’s legs. His thumb slipped out of his ass and Crowley moaned at the loss. There wasn't a breath of a moment when Crowley wasn’t held in place by one of Aziraphale’s hands or another, so he stayed kneeling, resting on the headboard of his bed, breathing hard. Then Aziraphale knelt behind him and Crowley could feel his cock pressing against the underside of him, dragging along his balls. 

"Still okay?" Aziraphale whispered, his voice throaty and cracked.

"Please, Aziraphale-  _ fuck _ , please," Crowley moaned. 

Aziraphale pressed the tip of his dicks against Crowley’s asshole for a beat, then pushed. He entered slow at first, then all at once. Crowley cried out, he was floating, he was drowning, he wasn't coming again but fuck he might as well have been. 

Aziraphale wrapped an arm around Crowley's chest and Crowley gripped at his bicep, holding the muscle to him, and moaned loudly at the feeling of Aziraphale inside him again. Then Aziraphale held his hip to keep them steady and began to thrust, quickly, roughly. He pulled half out smoothly, then snapped back in harshly. 

Crowley moaned and yelled and scratched Aziraphale as he was fucked. He felt almost dizzy with it and even though his dick remained soft he was getting turned on again. He moaned and begged and pleaded and repeated his angel's name.

Very soon Aziraphale's thrust grew quicker and less steadied. He held Crowley close, muttering into his ear as he fucked him. Crowley only caught moments of words, whispers of _ yes, my darling, my demon, so good, so good to me, my Crowley, yes, _ and they were enough to make Crowley whimper as Aziraphale grew to his finish. 

Aziraphale came, pressing Crowley to the wall and buried in his shoulder blades. He breathed hard and slid out of Crowley's ass, leaving kisses down Crowley's back as he sat behind him. 

Crowley slid to the bed, warm and well fucked and comfortable laying curled and inhuman before the kneeling angel. He ran a hand through his hair and opened one eye to peak at Aziraphale. He sat, leaning back on his hands and catching his breath. He was glistening with sweat and caught Crowley’s eye when he looked, so he smiled widely. 

Crowley felt like a puddle, one that wanted to up and wrap around Aziraphale, but he didn’t have the energy or presence of mind to do anything but stare up at the backlit angel.

Aziraphale sat forward and pulled on one of Crowley's legs, flinging it over so that Crowley would lie on his back before him. Crowley let his leg lie wide and twisted so that he could face Aziraphale as Aziraphale wanted. 

Aziraphale continued to smile as Crowley snuggled down and lay closer to him. He leaned forward, resting an arm next to Crowley head and began pressing soft kisses to Crowley’s collarbone and chest. Crowley laughed silently, completely delighted, and ran a hand through Aziraphale’s curls. 

Aziraphale kept kissing him, moving lower. He kissed his ribs, his abdomen. He avoided entirely erogenous zones, giving them a chance to calm, but kissed Crowley’s stomach, his hip bone, his thigh nonetheless. Crowley lay there and basked and let him.

“I'm going to fuck you again soon,” Aziraphale muttered into the dip of Crowley’s hip.

Crowley hummed. “Sounds good,” he mumbled happily.

Aziraphale kissed the skin above his dick, where his pubic hair grew. “This silly body just needs a few minutes to recover,” he said. 

Crowley hummed again and stretched. He felt liquid, he felt fucked. He hoped, vaguely, that if Aziraphale was going to fuck him again then maybe he’d be left with a few marks. “I knew you’d like sex,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale caught his leg as he stretched and turned it so he could kiss the inside of his thigh. “You were right, of course, you've always been so clever,” Aziraphale said. He sat back and kissed the edge of Crowley’s knee, fingers dancing along the edge of the scales that ran down Crowley’s foot. “Why didn’t we do this years ago?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley chuckled and slipped his leg out of his grasp. “I think I offered about 4000 years ago,” he said, then poked Aziraphale in the chest with his toe. “You said no.”

Aziraphale smiled. “So you did,” he agreed. He ushered Crowley’s let aside again and moved forward steadily, laying atop Crowley again. “Oh, you're so clever,” he said, then he kissed Crowley on the mouth, gently and deeply. Crowley kissed his back, running his hands down his back and holding him close. Aziraphale pulled away. “And nice,” he added.

“Hey,” Crowley complained mildly.

Aziraphale kissed his neck, passionately, lightly sucking and pulling the odd bite. Crowley wanted to further refute the choice of compliment but found himself breathless. “And kind,” Aziraphale muttered as he moved to Crowley’s collarbone to kiss him there as well. “And beautiful,’ he said, trailing intimate kisses down Crowley’s chest. “And thoughtful and wonderful and-”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley interrupted with a large smile.

Aziraphale sat back again and grinned at him. “And wicked,” he said.

Crowley sat up, resting on his elbows to look at him approvingly. He was blushing and smiling warmly, but didn’t mind one bit that Aziraphale could see, that he knew how Crowley liked his words. “That's more like it.”

Aziraphale ran a hand down Crowley’s chest, lingering at every crease and hair. “And witty and wiley,” he added quietly. 

“Laying on the alliteration a bit thick, don’t you think?” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale met his eyes and grinned at him. He moved forwards again, tilting to one side before landing next to Crowley, legs tangled with his and facing him in the bed. Crowley lay back down and turned to face him in turn, taking his nearness as a reason to touch him again. 

“And you're so full of hope,” Aziraphale muttered as Crowley’s fingers explored his shoulder, his chest, his stomach.

Crowley’s fingers moved slowly, unrushed in their passage. He skipped along Aziraphale’s ribs, feeling every fold of fat and indent of hidden muscle. He pressed his fingers into his softest bits, luxuriating in the vitality that simmered beneath. He was so warm. He shone.

“You don't regret it, do you?” Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale’s head tilted slowly, taking him in. Crowley avoided his gaze for a moment, then met it. He was being looked at with a gentle love that never seemed to fade. “This?” Aziraphale asked kindly but with disbelief in his voice. 

Crowley smiled a small smile. He flattened his hand to the curve of Aziraphale’s rib. “The side you chose,” he clarified. 

Aziraphale paused and considered his response. “I feel a bit lonely sometimes,” he admitted. “And somewhat aimless. But no, I never regret it.” He moved the small distance between them to kiss Crowley, holding him in the kiss for some time. “I'm still finding my feet,” he added as they broke apart. 

“Of course.”

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled, not with tears exactly, but something close. “I'm so- I'm just so happy, Crowley. To be free and to have that freedom with you,” he said thickly. 

So Crowley kissed him, then reminded him that he loves him, then kissed him again. And Aziraphale did the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy they did it! Thanks for reading the fic, guys! I'm over on tumblr w the same url if you wanna follow or reblog a link to this or whatever you wanna do, it's all a chuckle <3
> 
> This has been a really fun one, i recommend this structure highly to all writers. Just do snippets of scenes all over the place! I wrote like twice as much as i planned for cos i just kept coming up with little plot bunnies and i could fit them into this fic. Very fun


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